


The Proposition

by meaninglessblah



Category: Six Realms
Genre: Anal Sex, And because Einfall is technically a slave and the relationship precludes the possibility of consent, Begging, Blow Jobs, Flagged for non-con because Klauen's stubborn but ultimately consensual, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: Klauen and Blair have been searching for someone to fill their needs; after much deliberation, they think they’ve found him – the slave who’s rumoured to have bedded almost every lord and lady in the Realms.





	The Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> Klauen is a highlord, Blair is a lowlord, Einfall is a slave. Blair propositions Einfall for a threesome, on the condition of secrecy. 
> 
> Einfall is 19, Klauen & Blair are 20. Klauen is gay, Blair is bisexual, and Ein is pansexual, if you’re curious.
> 
> Read their adventures here: http://thesixrealms.tumblr.com/tagged/six%20realms/chrono

“You summoned me, sage?” he says, his voice ringing clear and dutifully through the room. Klauen leans back against the headboard, gesturing to Blair. “Sage?” he repeats, this time to the lowborn lord.

Blair surveys him. “What’s your name?”

“Einfall, sage.”

“Einfall,” Blair repeats, testing the name on his tongue. He glances over at Klauen. “Are you happy with him?”

“If he keeps his mouth shut,” Klauen mutters back. Slight confusion flitters through Einfall’s gaze, before it rises with Blair’s next words.

“Will you breathe a word of this encounter outside the walls of this room?” he asks, and Einfall’s chin rises.

“Never. I live to serve the Stahldrittens, sage, and their confidants.” It sounds like a practiced line, a recitation. Blair sighs.

“Come over here; sit on the bed.”

The slave does as instructed, sitting at the foot of the bed. He glances over at Klauen, unsure what his next action should be, but then Blair is seizing a handful of his shirt roughly, pinning him down on the mattress with his knees on either side of the man’s hips. Blair’s hand closes around the side of his throat, the motion almost soothing, if his gaze hadn’t been so ruthless.

“You don’t serve the Stahldrittens after tonight,” Blair corrects him, and the teen is smart enough to keep his silence. “You only serve us, just him and me: do you understand?”

“Yes, my lords.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll accept honesty now, not later. If you cannot hold your promise, say so now.”

“My lips are for your words only, my lords,” he replies quietly, and Blair snickers, his gaze rising to Klauen.

“At least he’s poetic.”

“Sage, if I may,” he entreats, and Blair’s gaze falls back to him. He hasn’t moved an inch. “Why did you summon me?”

“You’re valuable,” Klauen responds at the moment Blair quips, “He likes the curve of your ass.”

Einfall blushes, and Klauen turns a few shades darker. “Blair,” he mutters warningly, and the lowlord grins.

“I can say that to him,” Blair says nonchalantly. “He doesn’t mind, do you?”

“No, sage.”

“See? Besides, he’s not going to breathe a word of this outside of this room, are you?”

“No, sage.”

“Ein,” Blair murmurs, and pulls back to drink his whole form in, rising to his feet. The slave’s eyes follow him. “You are being gifted a very important opportunity.” He frowns, but does not interrupt. “We’ve heard about your exploits, and Lord Klauen wants you as one of his personal servants.”

“Thank you, sage,” Einfall responds, though there’s doubt there, uncertainty stemming from confusion. “Though I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“Nothing yet,” Blair says, shifting his weight to his other foot. “But you have a chance to earn it tonight.”

“What would you have me do, sage?”

“Well,” Blair drawls, and turns to Klauen, leaving the sentence for him to uptake. Klauen shoots him a look of distaste.

“We’ve heard about your talents, and–”

Blair rolls his eyes, cutting to the chase. “I’m going to fuck him, and he’s going to fuck you. And if you live up to your reputation, you might get to fuck us both.”

Einfall’s eyes go wide, and Klauen’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I… I understand why you need my silence then, sage.”

“Exactly,” Blair purrs. “Are you interested, Ein? Because the night is wasting.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Where would you like me, sage?”

Blair grins, as if to a confidant. “You’ll address me as master, understood?”

“Yes, master,” he responds without hesitation. He’s well-versed in this play. “What do I call him?”

Blair glances over at Klauen, that wicked smile playing over his devilish features. “I’ll tell you when the time comes. Pull your shirt off.”

Ein obliges, crossing his arms over to take the hem in each hand and lift it over his head. The muscles along his arms ripple faintly, a testament to his years in service. His chest is flat, sweeping down across an almost-muscled midsection to dip into his navel. His hipbones cradle down, disappearing beneath the line of his pants. He kicks his boots off for good measure, and leans back on his elbows, waiting. Klauen has to admit, in terms of aesthetics, their deliberation was not wasted.

Blair seems to think this too, because his eyes light up, the cogs ticking over in his head. This is his battleground, where he plays his strategies and commands his men, and he revels in it.

His fingers come up, teasing apart the ties of his belt and jerking his shirt out of his pants before he lifts it over his head with single motion and grace. Ein’s gaze falls to the necklace of bite mark scars that line his midsection, marring the smooth skin stretched over his pelvis. Blair catches him looking, and his lips twist in disapproval.

“ _That_ ,” he explains, discarding the shirt on the stone tiles as he steps forwards, “was a birthday gift to – or rather _from_ – your Lord and Mage.” Klauen’s features hitch into something confident, something smug, and Blair bears teeth in a smile. “His one and only time he got to leave a mark on me.”

Ein’s gaze is enthralled by the wounds, and he leans forwards, curling his fingers around Blair’s waistline, pressing soft lips against the tender flesh. Klauen can see the shiver that dances its way up Blair’s spine, the bliss that streaks over his face before his fingers card through the slave’s hair. He glances up, catching the highlord watching, and barks an order, “Klauen.”

Klauen snorts softly, but his nimble fingers relieve himself of his belt, shimmying his shirt over bruised shoulders before he drops it to the floor. Blair watches him with that sultry, slow smile that he always wears when watching Klauen move around naked, and he reaches down to take Ein’s chin into his palm, raising the man’s lips from his own skin, directing his gaze.

“Now that,” he says appreciatively, “is something worth your attention.”

Klauen laughs, but nonetheless stifles a faint blush, glancing down at himself. He supposes he’s attractive. Training with the soldiery has certainly made him fit where Blair is lithe. His midsection is more toned than either of his counterparts, undulating where tendons press against the skin. Blair, comparatively, has a long curve of an abdomen, something to inhale gradually, kiss slowly. His torso is less broad than Blair’s though, his shoulders narrower from heritage more than anything else. Blair has the fortitudinous shoulders that favour his brothers, the rounded lines of resolute muscle. Klauen’s accentuate his collarbone, jutting out with taught, practiced posture reflective of his training.

Ein, by comparison, is shorter, more muscle and bone and rib packed into slightly less space, but it doesn’t show. His neckline dips into the teardrop of his clavicle, and his chest seems to evolve around it. His shoulders are not broad, but not thin, dense yet light. His skin is slightly darker than Klauen’s, and perhaps even Blair’s, alluding to heritage suited to open fields. His eyes confirm this, with their depthless blue that enters into the realm of turquoise, toeing that indiscernible line that is almost green. He no doubt hails from the Wasser or Erde Realms.

He crawls over to Klauen without need of further commands, somewhat hesitantly taking the Highlord’s shoulders and straddling his lap. It’s almost as if he feels he should ask permission; but with Blair watching on behind him, it’s evident who is in charge tonight.

His hands encircle Klauen’s shoulders, his palms resting in the lull of his collarbone as he presses lips to Klauen’s throat and begins to suckle at the sensitive flesh.

“What do you want me to do, Blair?” Klauen asks, and the thrums of his vocal chords reverberating back through Ein’s lips send a shudder through him. It is a request not for direction, but for permission.

“What do you feel like doing?” Blair asks coyly, only half-attentive as he tugs away his belt completely, easing his pants slightly off his hips, exposing the blemished flesh to the light.

Klauen’s hands come up to Ein’s ribs, his palms pressing into the cage as his fingers dance on the muscles of his back, splayed as they roll over the flesh. Blair scowls, watching him.

“He has a nice back,” he chastises, and if Ein is listening, he only responds by moving his palms down to Klauen’s chest, hovering on the warm skin. “Don’t ruin it with your little fetishes.”

Klauen’s nails dig into the smaller man’s flesh, his body flinching slightly with the action, but he stills out of respect… or fear. Blair notices the movement, and glares. “What’re you going to do?” Klauen challenges softly. Ein is as much his to play with as Blair’s; he’s mutual territory, and Klauen intends to mark him as such. “Punish me?”

Blair watches him a second longer, before he smiles sweetly, for Ein’s benefit, though he isn’t watching, his lips leaving a trail of hickeys down Klauen’s throat. “Ein, take his wrists for me, will you?”

Klauen gasps as the smaller man seizes his wrists without lifting his head, pinning them against the metalwork of the bedhead and threading his fingers through, securing them tightly. He’s surprisingly strong; stronger than Klauen expected. He’s able to hold his own despite Klauen’s protests and growing unease as Blair strides forth.

The lowlord merely reaches beneath Ein in a swift move and slips his hand into Klauen’s open pants, seizing his half-erect length. Klauen stifles a yelp, jerking violently beneath the slave as Blair leans in to hold his gaze, ensnaring him with those smug silvery orbs.

“Klauen doesn’t seem to realise the dynamic here, does he, Ein?” Blair purrs, his tone low and seductive. It sends thrills down Klauen’s neck, snaking down his spine to his tailbone. Atop him, Ein chuckles against his throat, his hands reaffirming their grips on the highlord’s wrists. His back arches, and Blair’s gaze flickers to the dip of his spine and the curve of his ass.

Klauen says nothing as Ein pulls away, straightening slightly. His lips are flushed red, but his eyes are that steady, entrancing turquoise.

Blair’s fingers wind through his hair, pulling him closer, their lips meeting. Ein melts into the feeling, his hands fluttering over the line of Blair’s pants, thumbs ghosting over the wounds. He has a fascination with those, Blair notices, and pulls back, lowering his lips to Ein’s throat. The height makes it difficult, but Ein tilts his head back obediently, and Blair’s lips find his flesh.

Ein’s breath rises in hitches and gasps, twitching fingers digging into Blair’s skin around his sensitive waistline, sending sparks of pain and pleasure up his spine with the proximity.

“Master,” he murmurs, eyelids fluttering.

Blair pulls back to mumble into his neckline, “Take Klauen’s pants off.”

Ein obeys instantly, pulling away to run delicate hands over Klauen’s midsection, hooking fingers in the dark material. Klauen meets his gaze, hips arching up off the bed to aid him, before settling, his hands rising to take Ein’s chin into his palm. The slave stills with the contact, holding his stare. Klauen’s mind wanders to blood and flesh, centred around those plump lips.

Blair, as always, isn’t far from his thoughts. When Klauen glances up, he’s scowling again. “Put your hands down,” he orders sharply, and Klauen obeys reluctantly. Blair is the grand architect of this performance. “Clothes off. Sit,” he orders Ein, and the slave hurries to obey, before shuffling into the highlord’s lap.

Klauen’s hands encircle the backs of his knees, his own elbows rapping on the framework of the bedhead as he watches the slave effortlessly take his neck in both hands and seize his lips. He seems remarkably unabashed with his nakedness, unlike Klauen, who still blushes when Blair strips him.

Blair smirks slowly, watching the two men entangled in one another. He watches Klauen’s shoulders sink into that hard-line they always do when he falls into a rhythm he’s familiar with. His lips lacerate Ein’s tender throat, raising bruises on the skin, until Ein puts a reprimanding hand on the base of the highlord’s throat and pushes him gently back against the headboard. Then he shifts on Klauen’s lap, his erect length obvious against his abdomen.

His fingers ghost over Klauen’s ribs, counting them in sharp staccato jabs as his teeth nibble at Klauen’s earlobe, tracking down to his chest. He takes a pert nipple into his mouth, biting down as Klauen moans.

Blair kicks off his trousers, moving to the dresser to lift the pile of ropes from its polished surface. He drops them inattentively to the side of the bed, away from the entangled couple, his fingers brushing over ribbons and braided twine. He leaves them, climbing onto the bed behind Ein, his gaze watching as the smaller man’s shoulder blades come together when he sinks nails into Klauen’s shoulders, his spine rippling with shudders. Blair knows a tell when he sees one, and he smiles, turning his attention to the sensitive flesh.

He’s surprised to find Ein’s back is ultimately unflawed. The faintly tanned skin is warm to the touch, and Blair presses controlled lips to it, dipping into the curve of Ein’s spine as the man groans with the sensation. He can’t find a single blemish, save a scattering of freckles at the base of his neck, and wonders how a slave of nineteen years managed to get off so easily.

Ein reaches back, his fingers entangling in Blair’s dark hair as he gasps, rocking atop Klauen as Blair’s feathery kisses brush the top of his ass. Blair paints a trail back up to his neck, snaking up to his ear. He tugs on an earlobe with his teeth, arching up to whisper in his ear.

“Why am I torturing you when you could have a highlord begging for your cock?” he murmurs breathlessly, and Ein straightens beneath him, his entire back shuddering. He grins, turning his head slightly, and Blair kisses the corner of his lips.

“You don’t consider this begging?” he asks between hitches of breath. Blair looks down at Klauen where he lays, his eyes closed as Ein’s hands trace intricate patterns across his ribs, his teeth worrying at his lower lip.

Blair chuckles low in his throat, running his teeth lightly along the ridge of Ein’s ear and earning a groan. “ _Please_ ,” he sneers. “I’ve had him begging for a single touch, a single _breath_ before. This is him controlling you.” His laughter is breathless, fanning across Ein’s cheekbone. “Don’t you want to drive a highlord out of his fucking mind?”

Ein grins, and then he’s swinging off of Klauen as Blair pulls back. The highlord’s eyes flutter open with the lack of stimulation, and his confusion morphs into alarm as Ein seizes his wrists, pinning them unrelentingly as Blair lashes them together. Klauen cries out in half-hearted protest, but Ein takes his throat in one hand, seizing his lips. That’s all the distraction Blair needs to tie the rope to the bedhead.

Then Ein pulls back with a wicked chuckle to survey their work, and Klauen is left with a few inches of leeway and the horrifying realisation that he is hopelessly overpowered. Ein smirks, sitting back as Klauen tests the restraints, whining in irritation and dismay.

Blair leans down to brush noses, meeting his gaze with lidded eyes. “Oh, Klauen, you know how much fun it is to see you beg.” Klauen moans, arching slightly off the bed, as if trying to prompt some stimulation. Blair puts a steadying but firm hand on his stomach, settling him down on the sheets. “You didn’t think we weren’t going to exploit your screams, did you?”

Ein places a hand on either side of Klauen’s hips, pressing his lips to the highlord’s inner thighs as he mewls, no doubt aching for attention, denied with his salvation so close…

Blair’s hand closes around his throat, applying pressure as his eyes flick back up to the silver orbs. Blair grins, baring wicked teeth. “If you play fair and scream like the bitch you are, I’ll throw in some of your favourites.” Klauen’s eyes light up at that, wavering, conflicted. Blair doesn’t wait for him to rationalize, diving for the soft skin of his neck and nipping. Klauen cries out, squirming until Blair’s hand restrains him again.

Glancing up, Blair can see the ropes have bitten into his wrists, strangling the skin raw and red. His fingers twitch impatiently, denied.

“Ein,” he calls without looking down. “Tie him off and we can get started.”

Ein gets the message, and Klauen follows only moments later, jerking beneath Blair’s hands. His arms twitch uselessly above him. “Blair,” he moans, and it’s almost pleading. “Blair, not this. Not this, please.”

Blair drags his gaze down to Klauen’s stare, and smiles, pressing a delicate kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs into his skin as Ein’s hand starts to stroke his dick. Klauen moans, eyes closing as he rocks off the sheets, pumping into Ein’s palm.

Then Ein releases him, tying a small ribbon around his length, at the base. Klauen mutters a garbled curse, but it’s swallowed up as Blair kisses him.

When he pulls back, Klauen is whispering entreaties onto his lips. “Please take it off. Please, Blair.”

“Hmm,” Blair considers, before murmuring back, “I’ll give you a choice: I can either fuck you here with it on, or you can suck me off in the throne room with your loyalest captains watching.”

Klauen looks like he’s been slapped. It’s a look of betrayal, of horror and slight disgust. “I–”

“Can’t decide?” Blair prompts, and Klauen swallows, glaring slightly. His hand closes around Klauen’s cock, stroking firmly. Klauen chokes out a moan, arching off the sheets. “Let me make this simple for you: I fuck you now, or you very publically fuck me later.”

Klauen gasps a few times, his eyes closed as if it takes effort to collect his thoughts with Blair’s pace never lessening. He opens his mouth, but he just pants, unable to form words.

Blair leans down, his nose digging into Klauen’s cheek as he sucks at his jawline, distracting him. “Come on…” he coaxes. “It’s not difficult. We both know…”

“Fuck me,” he relents, and it’s almost a whine. It’s followed by a sound of despair, of self-admonishment, but he repeats, more firmly, “ _Fuck_ me.”

Blair smiles, and kisses him briefly, releasing his dick as he pulls back. “Not yet,” he promises, and takes Ein’s jaw into his palm, kissing him ferociously. He can feel Klauen’s eyes on them, drinking in every gasp of breath, every scrape of his teeth against those plump lips. Drinking it all in, and feeling _nothing_.

Blair’s hand snakes around Ein’s waist, pulling the slave flush against his body as he moans into the crook of the lowborn’s neck. Ein’s lips raise hickeys on his skin, and Blair’s palm presses into the small of his back, angling their hips together as his free hand traces the fall of his ass, sliding along his thigh.

After a few agonizing minutes, Blair pulls back, releasing Ein as he turns back to Klauen. His gaze flies over the highlord’s taut body, the stretch and waver of every fine-tuned muscle as he struggles to lie still.

“Enjoying yourself?” he purrs into Klauen’s collarbone, grinning as Ein moves behind him, trailing featherlight fingers up Klauen’s legs.

“You’re an asshole,” Klauen rasps, and his gaze is slightly desperate, beneath the bluff of fury.

Blair frowns nonetheless, pulling back with a low chuckle. “If you’re going to be rude, you’re going to have to wait longer.”

Something wavers in Klauen’s gaze then, and Blair leans down, tangling fingers through his mussed hair.

“Are you going to beg for it?” he inquires, laying flush against Klauen’s chest, revelling in the heat that passes between their skin. Ein must have nipped the skin of his thigh, because Klauen chokes on a cry, jerking beneath Blair’s weight. The lowlord’s gaze doesn’t lift from Klauen’s steely orbs. “Beg me for it, and I’ll get straight to it.”

Klauen hesitates, longer than strictly necessary, and Blair’s leniency is consumed in the silence. He sighs, and Klauen looks like he wants to take it back for a second. Blair doesn’t miss the exchange.

“Are you going to beg for my cock?” Blair teases, and Klauen’s gaze hardens to a glower. He’s already aware of how much Klauen despises blow jobs, but honestly, the highborn is so talented with that fucking tongue of his…

“Go fuck yourself,” he manages to snarl, before gritting his teeth to stifle the sound as Ein bites down – _hard_ – on his skin. Blair merely shrugs, sitting up with a chuckle as he casts an order over his shoulder at the slave.

“Don’t let him come unless I say so, alright?”

Ein doesn't respond but to press kisses into the sensitive flesh of Klauen's legs – his inner thighs, the dip of his hipbone, behind his knees – trailing flushed lips lightly enough to raise gooseflesh as Klauen writhes, groaning.

His resolve is wavering, a short step away from snapping completely, and it’s with this gleeful knowledge that Blair winds a hand behind his neck, kissing him slowly and passionately. Klauen arches towards him, tilting his head when his muscles lock against the restraints, trying to draw Blair deeper. Blair’s other hand closes around his own length, stroking firmly as he groans into Klauen’s mouth.

He nips at the line of Klauen’s jaw, tugging on his earlobe as the highlord gasps.

“Blair…”

The lowlord ignores him, lips fluttering down his throat, biting sporadically so he can feel Klauen’s skin shudder every time his teeth pinch his flesh. He’s wound exceptionally tight, and Blair’s mind is beginning to cloud over with need.

He gives Klauen a quick kiss, pulling back to meet his gaze, panting slightly himself. “Ready?”

“Fuck. _Blair_ ,” Klauen says, and it’s nearly a hiss. The sound of it sends laughter bubbling out of Blair’s heaving chest, and he shuffles forwards as his fingers pick apart the knots around Klauen’s wrists.

Klauen stares up at Blair as he straddles his chest, pinning his upper arms beneath his legs. Klauen can’t move but to wrap his hands around Blair’s thighs.

One hand digs into his inner thigh, the other latching onto the curve of his hipbone, pressing a thumb into the indents where his teeth had rested. Blair leans forwards with that curl of a grin, his right hand shifting under Klauen’s head to take a handful of his hair. He leverages Klauen’s head back, admiring the arc of his elongated throat, his other fingers dancing over the taunt tendons.

“You can’t wait all night, love,” Blair purrs, and as he says it, Ein takes the opportunity to exhale a breath of warm air onto Klauen’s dick. The highlord bucks with a cry, pinned down between the two, straining to see around Blair as he chuckles, tugging at the tender follicles of Klauen’s hair.

He relents, opening his lips to take Blair’s length into his mouth, and in the next minute warmth consumes his own cock as Ein takes him. He moans, the pads of his fingers digging into Blair’s inner thigh as he begins to suck. It’s wild and uncontrolled, thought caving to desperation until Blair digs nails into the flesh between his throat and shoulder, painful enough to have Klauen curving around it.

He gets the message, making a determined effort to slow himself, to pace his sucking, and Blair can appreciate the difficulty. He rocks slowly, gently, letting Klauen accommodate him, revelling in the feel of him around his length. His teeth scrape the underside briefly, and Blair moans, his hand constricting in Klauen’s hair. The pain of Klauen’s fingers biting into his hip is becoming excruciating, but Blair allows the indiscretion, swallowed up by the pure pleasure.

It doesn’t take long for Blair to come, releasing his seed into Klauen’s throat as the highlord moans. He’s nearing his edge – Blair can tell. But he gently disengages himself from Klauen’s hands and mouth, watching as he fights off a moan of ecstasy, hips arching now that Blair is off his chest.

Ein is still between his thighs, moving methodically, unhurried. Blair smirks, pressing a quick kiss to Klauen’s nose, watching as his eyes flutter open, pleading more than his lips could. There’s a groove in his lower lip where he teeth have frayed away the pink flesh.

Without assuring him, Blair moves down to his cock, watching as Ein pulls back, awaiting new commands. His gaze rises back to Klauen’s face, and his next words are clear and even. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Klauen groans, his hips quivering. “Blair, I don’t think–”

“ _Try_ ,” Blair instructs, but it’s softer than his other commands, and Klauen rolls over onto his stomach, pushing to his knees. His head hangs between his shoulders, his breath whispering between parted lips as Ein comes to his knees behind him. Blair traces the curve of Ein’s ear with his teeth. “Enjoy.”

He busies himself with disentangling the rope from the metalwork of the headboard, discarding it on the floor as Klauen’s gasps grow in desperation behind him. When it becomes too much for him to bear, Blair moves to his side, taking his face in gentle hands and bringing their lips together.

Klauen doesn’t beg, but Blair feels his breath hitch when Ein pushes into him, remarkably gently. Klauen’s throat works, as if he wants to scream, so Blair distracts him with his lips and tongue, consuming his mouth. He hears Ein’s moans behind him, and knows that he’s close to coming.

Blair’s hand glides over smooth muscle, tracing around the curve of his ribs and over his abdomen, his fingers running the length of Klauen’s member. His adept fingers pull at the ribbon, and then Klauen’s body is tensing, his cry filling Blair’s mouth as he comes hard. Ein follows soon after, pulling slowly from the exhausted highlord.

Klauen collapses on his stomach, shuddering the final waves of afterglow onto the mattress as his entire body seems to fall apart. He looks absolutely wasted, and Blair’s mind flickers back to an earlier encounter, when they were both younger; Klauen pleading with his fingers twisted in Blair’s hair, begging to come while Blair stretched out his torment, testing how long he could hold out. He’d collapsed like this too, all of his muscles useless with the relief. He’d fallen asleep immediately, and as Blair’s gaze tracks over him now, he can see the rise and fall of his back with his lungs, hear his deep steadied breaths.

He smiles, crawling over to lie next to him, propping himself up on one elbow. He isn’t tired yet, but Klauen has earned his sleep. Blair raises a single finger, letting his nail dance across the pale skin of Klauen’s back, carve apart the crevices where his muscles rise and fall in rhythmic succession.

He has a beautiful back. Blair likes to fuck him facedown purely so he can see the expanse of his back, the way the flesh rolls and strains beneath him. More than the sight of that, though, Blair loves the history written there.

A collection of smaller, inch-long scars around the curve of his shoulders, the lowest just nicking the base of his shoulder blade: fights with his siblings, when he had been shoved to the floor and made an example of with the point of a knife just to prove his weaknesses. Klauen hated those scars with a bitter fury.

The bruises that line his ribs, these dull and almost completely faded: memoirs of training, of boots to ribs and tackling opponents. Blair had had a fair few of those, back when he had trained as a teenager.

There was a particularly vicious bruise in the small of his back, something suggestive of brute force; a heavy heel puncturing layers of skin and flesh, enough to cause haemorrhaging that snaked out in sickly veins reminiscent of dragonfly flowers or spiders webs.

The hickeys. Blair smiles at these blemishes, noting how they are grouped between his shoulder blades, trailing down the curve of his spine. God, how he loves that spine. The way it contorts in arches, dipping and undulating with every cry and moan and whispered, “Fuck.”

Klauen never swears more than when they’re having sex. It’s one of Blair’s biggest turn-ons, the way Klauen curses unreservedly just for him, only when they’re alone and in their own private company. And the way Klauen blushes and scowls anytime he brings it up in conversation. He can’t deny it; Blair can mimic it perfectly, recite every begging note until Klauen looks like he could faint from embarrassment. He tried once in front of their friends, and the only thing that could shut Blair up was Klauen biting down on his lip, _hard_.

Blair grins at the memory, shifting to relieve his numb arm. In the dim light, he can only make out scarce few inflictions on the shadowed skin. But he can see the lines – three or four or five, he can never seem to count them right – long and upraised against the comparatively darker skin. These are white, looking like iron sizzling up from his flesh in razor thin lines. They consume most of his mid-back, the highest licking the nape of his neck and the lowest just touching the start of the curve of his ass.

These are a history Blair remembers, but wishes they didn’t share.

Abusive is the first word that comes to his mind, discipline the second. The progress of a whip across his back, delivered with such efficiency and skill that it’s not until Blair leans closer, brushes lips against the streaks, that he can feel the individual lines, taste the immensely controlled grouping. Maybe six lashes, all of them packed so tightly together, overlapping flesh to form what at first glance is a band.

He can’t remember which ones he’s personally responsible for, and it shames him in a way. It feels like a betrayal to Klauen, a sign of callous indifference. The rest of him roils with disgust and fury, not for Klauen, who screamed with every blow and pleaded deliriously with Blair not to tell their friends out of some misplaced shame, but for his father, who had ordered the strikes. One band for when he and Blair had felled the largest stag for miles and proudly brought it home to let it bleed into the cobblestones in the great hall. One band for when he had reprimanded his father, had spoken back out of indignation and fury and humiliation – the _only_ time he had been blinded enough to retort. Blair hadn’t been present for that one, but it had taken months before he had been able to coax the confession out of Klauen, and by then, he couldn’t even remember the catalyst. One band for the time he had taken the fall for Bitva when she had come riding home late. He had lied, claimed that he had directed her on a poor route, and she had been too terrified to correct him. She had sat with Blair that night when they’d watched over him, washing the bleeding wounds periodically as he had sobbed in his sleep.

Blair closes his eyes with a sigh, and when he opens them, he sees Einfall watching him, scrutinizing. “Are you going to sleep?” he drawls, and it’s slightly deprecating with his weariness. Einfall doesn’t answer, but crawls up to Klauen’s other side, positioning himself beneath the covers without disturbing anyone. He turns onto his side, exposing his back to Blair, and promptly falls asleep.


End file.
